


triumvirate

by maledictus



Series: lucis' a/b/o au. [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Multi, and definitely mentions of cannibalism, maybe some slight dubcon in later chapters, things are gonna get Fucked Up™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:23:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maledictus/pseuds/maledictus
Summary: Though not as tall as Russia, he has an incredibly impressive stature, the crown of his head just a few inches from the top of the door frame; he has broad shoulders and what must be a swimmer's body beneath his baggy hoodie and jeans, and he's fixed Britain with inquisitive blue eyes as bright as Canopus. Those eyes round on Toris and he feels his trembling increase; he hopes America can't feel it as he extends a hand for him to shake.Gods, the strength in his fingers...Lithuania's throat swells up; for a split second, he imagines what those fingers could do to him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a super self-indulgent abo dynamics fic featuring omega!toris and the vast differences (and the abject horror) of mating with two superpowers struggling for total dominance...not only of him, but of the entire world. there's way more to it, but i suck at writing summaries and i just really love this au okay. if you guys like my take on it enough, i'll make a series including other countries because fam i got headcanons.

Toris is trembling from his head to his toes. He swallows hard against the panicked lump forming in his throat as he reaches up to rap his knuckles against the wooden door, wishing he could be as sturdy as it. His palms sweat. Truthfully, his _everything_ sweats. He's nervous, nervous like he's never been before in his life — after all, America is an alpha, the elite, the best of the best, an apex predator...having a little omega for a housekeeper is just _asking_ for problems. _But still,_ he thinks to himself with another hard swallow, _he is better than the alternative_. He will consider this an escape, no matter how brief it may end up being; Ivan had said this would only be temporary, and had fixed him with hungry eyes as he'd packed his things and left.

"Are you okay, chap?"

Arthur's voice stirs him from his thoughts, and Toris is quick to apologize. 

"Atsiprašau, mano draugas. I'm just-...nervous."

There's no sense in lying, not when the beta will see right through it. Arthur clicks his tongue against his teeth and nods sympathetically, though his eyes remain stern.

"You have to forget him, old boy. Alfred may be a complete numpty, but he's a damn sight better than that russkie." Britain gives the door a disdainful look, as though it had insulted the queen herself. "And at least you'll be treated well here."

He reaches out to rest a hand softly against the Lithuanian's side; Toris doesn't flinch away as his fingertips skim over the divots in between his ribs. The look he's given is somewhat softer now, almost pitying, and he hates it.

The door opens before Toris can tell him so, and immediately, he's hit by the smell of _alpha_ ; it's nowhere near as potent and addictive as when he's in heat, but it's enticing nonetheless. His mouth immediately goes dry, and he's grateful that Arthur takes up the task of boredly explaining who he is and why he's here, because _oh gods, America_. Though not as tall as Russia, he has an incredibly impressive stature, the crown of his head just a few inches from the top of the door frame; he has broad shoulders and what must be a swimmer's body beneath his baggy hoodie and jeans, and he's fixed Britain with inquisitive blue eyes as bright as Canopus. Those eyes round on Toris and he feels his trembling increase; he hopes America can't feel it as he extends a hand for him to shake.

_Gods, the strength in his fingers..._

Lithuania's throat swells up; for a split second, he imagines what those fingers could do to him.

"Nice to meet you, Toris!" Alfred quips cheerily, flashing the bashful Lithuanian a brilliant smile. _He's like summer come to life,_ Toris thinks as he stammers a return greeting. _Dievas danguje, what have I gotten myself into?_

Both he and his escort are invited inside, but the beta politely refuses, muttering something about getting back to France for a meeting. Arthur gives Toris a reassuring pat on the shoulder and a reassuring smile before firing off a slew of threats and curses in Alfred's direction and disappearing back into his waiting taxi. "You treat him well, you twat, or you'll be hearing from Russia!"

And Alfred merely laughs.

* * *

 

"So, whereabouts is your place, anyway?"

"Just north of Poland's."

Alfred gives him a quizzical look as he pours Lithuania another mug of coffee. He'd insisted on brewing it himself, much to Toris' surprise — he'd thought he would have to start work immediately. He'd have _preferred_ to start his work immediately to keep his mind off of his summery new employer and his damnable alpha scent.

"...just west of Russia."

At that, Alfred makes a low noise of understanding in his throat and nods.

"That ol' Russia." He leans against the kitchen counter and takes a long drink of his coffee. Toris tries not to notice the obvious strength in his forearms, or the lithe curve of his waist and hips where they rest against the granite, or the flash of deliciously tanned skin that appears just beneath the hem of his hoodie. His mouth goes dry again, and he downs half of his coffee to quench it.

"How has he been doing since his revolution?" It's a surprising question, but a welcome one, one that will definitely distract him from the growing intrigue rising in his alpha-addled mind. Toris feels his eyes become steely and his lips set themselves into a thin, tense line; he cups his mug in his hands, doing his best to ignore the way they tremble against the ceramic.

"...not well. Not well at all."

"Hence why you're here."

 _And he's astute,_ Toris thinks as he meets Alfred's knowing gaze. _He's far from a numpty._ All he can do is nod, unable to form words around the knot in his throat.

He wishes there were a knot in his ass.

He feels his cheeks go hot with embarrassment at the thought; _oh fuck, that's enough_. As gracefully as he can, he excuses himself and disappears down the hall to the room Alfred had given him, quickly closing the door and resting his forehead against its cool wooden surface.

 _What am I doing?_ he asks himself, self-loathing rising with the bile in his throat. _I'm not even in heat; how can I be thinking these things?_

_Because you can't deny what you are...what you always have been...what you always will be._

He feels hot tears spring to his eyes and he squeezes them closed. His hand blindly gropes for his pocket, for the vial of beta scent inside; he tugs it free and sprays it haphazardly over his pulse points.

_Worthless little omega whore. Heat or no heat, beta stink or omega stink, you'll always want a cock in your ass. You'll always be at the bottom of the world ladder, because that's where omega sluts belong. You're for breeding, not for ruling the world. Your only worth is in what you can carry inside you._

_You are nothing._

There's a knock at the door, and Toris nearly jumps out of his skin.

"Toris, are you okay...?" There's a surprising amount of concern in Alfred's voice; it's almost  _alluring_.

"Y-yes, I'm fine, sir," Lithuania manages to reply; he pushes back from the door and straightens his uniform, hoping he looks more composed than he feels. "I just need a moment to unpack. I'll have dinner on the table in a couple of hours; what would you like?"

There's a long pause on the other side of the door. For a moment, Toris thinks he's offended him.

"...I actually thought we could go out tonight. Y'know, since it's your first day here and you're probably jetlagged as hell. You don't have to start working until tomorrow."

America actually sounds sheepish; _I didn't know alphas could be sheepish._ Toris can practically hear him rubbing a hand against the nape of his neck. For the first time in a very long while, Lithuania actually smiles.

"Of course, sir." The _'I'd like that very much'_ goes unspoken, but as he opens the door and meets Alfred's wide grin and joyful blue eyes, Toris senses that he understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation of lithuanian:  
> Atsiprašau, mano draugas — Apologies, my friend.  
> Dievas danguje — God in heaven.


	2. Chapter 2

"Awesome dinner, Toris; your pot roast seriously can't be beat. I swear, you should go into the restaurant business."

"You're too kind, but I'm already in the business of ruling a nation, sir."

Their banter back and forth comes easy now; after several months of living together, Toris finally feels he's adapted to life around his enticing new employer. Alfred's smile never ceases to steal his breath away, however, and he has to busy himself with some other menial task to keep from kissing that stupid grin off of his attractive face. At the moment, he's collecting their dishes and playing very cool in the face of Alfred's merciless teasing.

"How many times have I told you about that 'sir' thing, hmm? You're not subservient to me, brolis; you never could be."

 _Damn that brilliant alpha, using my own language against me._ Toris rolls his shoulders in a noncommittal shrugging motion as he takes their dishes to the sink and begins washing them. _Oh, if only you knew, America..._

"At least once more, seras." He glances over his shoulder to give the American a cheeky grin in return and finds his employer's cerulean eyes firmly fixed on him. His gaze is intense; not unpleasantly so, but just enough to send a prickle up Toris' spine and force him to stare into the filling sink as though it's the most interesting thing in the world. It's the look of a predator, and that makes Toris his all too willing prey...

 _Fuck._ He's been doing his best to ignore the warmth that's been steadily rising in his gut all day, the first sign of that damnable heat he's been dreading, and of course it would come when Alfred is home. Toris had hoped against hope for nearly two weeks that the other nation would be abroad for the duration; the very last thing he needs is for America to encounter him in heat. _But America-...no, Alfred, is smart, too damn smart for me to fool with someone else's scent forever,_ he tells himself as he subconsciously searches for the weight of the bottle of pheromones in his pocket. _He'll find out what I really am...and when he does, I'll have to leave._

_Or stay. And let him fuck my brains out._

The prickle traveling up his spine becomes a full-on shiver that's so intense, his hands grind to a halt elbow-deep in the soapy water. He can still feel Alfred's eyes on him, that intense unplaceable feeling, only now, it's come closer; he doesn't have to turn around to know that Alfred is right behind him. He can feel the alpha's presence encompassing him, can smell the bourbon on his breath as it comes in warm puffs against his neck and shoulder. Oh, how badly he wants to lean back against that sturdy frame, to let Alfred's arms come around him and hold him close, to feel those fingers slide down his chest and beneath the hem of his pants...

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Feeling pleasure spike between his legs but stubbornly unwilling to give into it just yet, Toris stands stock still, gaze fixed on the bubbles swirling in the sink. He's acutely aware of every bit of Alfred's presence, especially that smell, that damnable masculine scent that clouds his mind and plays havoc with his senses. When he feels the alpha's touch on his shoulder, he almost - almost - flinches and pulls away, remembering quickly that he isn't at Ivan's house and he isn't about to be hurt...though, for a split second, he doubts himself, doubts Alfred's intentions. He must be able to smell his scent, his **real** scent, underneath all that deep and even beta smell. _Damn it, Feliks — why couldn't your pheromones be stronger than mine?_

"Hey," Alfred says; his voice is soft, deep, gravelly, like nothing Toris has ever heard. "Let me do the washing up. You can head to bed early, okay? You look really tired."

"Y-yes, I am," comes Lithuania's all too quick reply. "Labai ačiū, s-...Alfred."

He's just as surprised as America is at the change, but there's no time to enjoy it — before Alfred can reply, Toris ducks beneath his arms and briskly leaves the kitchen, running for his room and slamming the door when he's sure he's out of earshot.

 _This will be a long and incredibly difficult week,_ he thinks with a resigned sigh as he rummages through his suitcase for the extra locks he'd bought just for this occasion.

* * *

 

Really, there's no way Alfred wouldn't have found out. 

 _Toris reeks,_ he thinks as he stands directly behind his housekeeper. He's gone completely still, that beautiful green gaze fixed intently on the soap bubbles dancing on the surface of the dishwater. He reeks of omega, that alluring scent that catches hold of his mind and draws him in like a moth to a flame. There's always been something stale about his beta scent, something old, recycled...something that reminded him very distinctly of a night he'd had in Warsaw. Between his youth and how well-traveled he has become, Alfred's nose is keener than most, remembers more than most, and that scent is distinctly _not Toris'_.

But the omega scent...that one is new, overwhelming and enticing and completely novel to him, a mix of musk and lemongrass and tarragon and old books and new cars and _sex_  that chews him up and spits him out multiple times a second. _It's so-...it's so Toris,_ he concludes, swallowing hard as he reaches out to touch the much older nation on the shoulder.

And in a flash, Toris is gone, clearly just as aware of his heat as Alfred is.

America curses under his breath and slumps into his seat at the kitchen table, dishes completely forgotten in the sink. "I have an omega for a housekeeper, and I want him so fucking bad," he admits out loud to the empty room; there's something akin to pity and understanding in the gloaming silence that is returned to him.

* * *

 

The knock at the door has him on high alert, and not just because it was unexpected — Toris can smell Alfred's all too familiar scent on the other side of the door, and it sends a bolt of desire from his brain all the way down to his aching cock. He muffles the whine that escapes his parted lips with a hand clapped firmly over his mouth, the other slithering between his legs to circle his leaking hole; _just pretend he isn't there,_ he repeats to himself. _You've gotten through this before. You can do this. You can do this. You can—_

"...let me in, brangioji. Please."

 _How did Alfred know that word? How did he know it would make him **melt**?  _ Toris isn't sure; he isn't sure of anything anymore, except that he desperately wants to go to the door and unlock it and let the alpha on the other side have his way with him. Those fingers...oh, how he wants them exploring every inch of him, _inside_ him. But he's reluctant to leave his little nest of pillows and blankets; and more than reluctant, he's proud. Tears stream down his cheeks and he moans through his tightly-clenched fingers: _oh, mylimasis, how I want you. But I can't have you; I can't let you see me for what I really am._

_Would we really be equals if you did?_

There's a distant rattling noise and a few low clinks, and suddenly, the stench of alpha fills the room to the brim. Equal parts frightened and aroused, Lithuania twists himself into the blankets in the vain hope that Alfred won't be able to find him there; Alfred's eyesight isn't the greatest, but his sense of smell is pristine — and when Toris feels that wonderful nose press up against his pulse point and breathe in his scent, his **true** scent, he breaks down.

"...aš labai atsiprašau. I'm s-so sorry, Alfred."

"Sorry for what, babe?" The alpha's voice is rough with want as it whispers against the side of his neck, and Lithuania shudders, every atom of his body aching to be closer to him. "Don't you ever be sorry for what you really are."

 _Babe. He called me babe._ Toris itches to reach out to him, to pull him close and take his cock; he's thoroughly convinced it must be gorgeous, though probably not as big as Ivan's...

"But I-..."

"Hush." Alfred has never been commanding with him before, and it makes his head spin with desire. The bedsprings creak as America's impressive weight settles onto the mattress; Toris can feel him slowly, carefully, pulling back the blankets to expose him, and when he feels those searing blue eyes on his naked body undeterred, he almost wants to cry with joy — well, both joy and self-loathing.

But he's an obedient little omega, and he doesn't speak; he merely squirms, desperate to get closer as he feels Alfred's gaze rake up and down his exposed skin. There's that same unplaceable feeling of being watched, a feeling that Toris now recognizes as _hunger_. The alpha is hungry, and Toris fully intends to be his meal. _Oh fuck, he's going to take me. He's going to mate with me; he's going to breed me—_

"You can explain things to me later. Right now, we both can't think all that clearly...that, and I wanna fuck you until you _scream_."

 _Fuck._ Alfred isn't romantic, but he isn't cruel; he's authoritative but not austere. His tone leaves no room for argument and his eyes burn with desire, but his touch is gentle and steady as he places two fingers under Toris' chin and tips it up. _He isn't anything like Ivan_ is the last thing Toris thinks before Alfred claims his mouth and his brain short-circuits.

_There IS a God._

Toris moans against Alfred's lips, hips bucking up off the mattress, eager to get closer to him; he's quickly pinned down by the alpha's grip, his mind screaming with pleasure as those strong hands he'd first fantasized about slide down to his thighs and push them up and apart, spreading his legs wide and exposing his ass and leaving him vulnerable but more aroused than he's ever been in his life. A feral growl leaves Alfred's throat as he trails kisses and bites down the side of the omega's neck and Toris is convinced he's being burned; every inch of their skin that meets ignites a small spark soon to become a raging inferno, and all Toris' brain can think is _alpha, alpha, alpha_ —

"...Alfred, _please_." He almost doesn't recognize his own voice as he cries out to the younger nation above him; he lifts his hips to let the fluid run from his ass over the curve of his tailbone and down to the small of his back, desperate to lure the alpha closer. "...please, please, mano meile, I beg you..."

Alfred pulls back to meet Toris' gaze, and Lithuania is sure he's going to spontaneously combust.

"Please what, babe?"

His blood sings for him to submit.

"...please fuck me. Please, please, _please_ —"

Alfred seems just as impatient as he is, because he tips Toris back on his shoulders and slips the head of his cock into his ass, and Toris throws back his head and shrieks in absolute bliss.

_Fuck, oh gods, fuck, fuck, FUCK, oh god just like that, oh fuck, oh crucified Christ—_

"Fuck, babe: you're _tight_ ," Alfred grinds out as he forces his cock in until his balls touch the slippery curve of Toris' ass. Somewhere through the haze of pleasure clouding his mind, Toris thinks that's a small wonder: Ivan was massive, after all. But he's only interested in the cock currently pounding his prostate and making him scream; he curls up on himself, angling his ass higher and allowing the alpha to hook his ankles over those broad shoulders and take him even deeper.

"God, Toris-..." Alfred trails off as his breathing becomes labored; for a split second, Toris meets his gaze and it's like lightning passes between them. _Fuck, he's so handsome; so genuine; so goddamn sexy. He's everything I've ever wanted. Ivan never made me feel this way. He's everything to me._

_He's everything._

Pure, unadulterated love rips through his heart and Toris feels tears roll down his cheeks. _There's no going back now._

"You're **mine**." It's as if Alfred knows — _or perhaps he feels the same_. If the look of wild, unbridled affection in those brilliant blue eyes was any indication, Alfred and his omega were currently in the middle of forging a pairbond, and that thought steals Toris' breath away almost as much as that immaculate cock thrusting in and out of him.

"Yours," he reiterates breathlessly, fingers scrabbling to hold onto something as he feels the tightening in his gut that signals his impending orgasm. "Only yours, mylimasis. Fuck, Alfred, _please_ —"

The grin Alfred flashes him is the last thing he sees before he feels the alpha's fingers curl around his cock and his vision goes white. Vaguely, distantly, he hears his own voice cry out, feels hot cum splatter his stomach and chest; but that's nothing compared to the absolute ecstasy of feeling Alfred go rigid above him before spilling his seed inside him, filling up every nook and cranny of his insides, his own contracting muscles milking every last drop out of the alpha's cock—

And almost immediately after, the knot forms, something that almost never happened with Ivan. Toris' vision clears just in time for him to be electrocuted with pleasure at the feeling of Alfred tugging in vain against the knot stuck fast inside his partner; he's quick to settle down, shrugging almost imperceptibly and gently lowering himself and Toris back down to the mattress.

Toris' breathing is ragged and uneven; his face is sticky with sweat and tears that plaster his usually soft chocolate-brown hair to his forehead. As soon as he feels Alfred's touch, now welcomingly cool, stroking against his face, he leans into it blindly, brushing a wet kiss against the pulse point of his wrist.

"O-oh, gods, Alfred-..." The alpha leans in to bury his face in his omega's neck, inhaling that scent that drives him mad; Toris tilts his head to the side, allowing his partner - _his mate_ , he realizes with a contented sigh - to kiss and suck at the sweat-damp skin there. His arms tremble as they slide up the tanned, immaculate planes of Alfred's back, and he holds him close with strength he didn't know he had; the low ache in his cock has already begun again, and this time, he's impatient to sate it.

"...please, God, Alfred, fuck me—"

And Alfred grins against the side of his mate's neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translation of lithuanian:  
> Brolis — brother.  
> Seras — sir.  
> Labai ačiū — thank you very much.  
> Brangioji — darling.  
> Mylimasis — beloved.  
> Aš labai atsiprašau — I'm so sorry.  
> Mano meile — my love.


End file.
